I tried to be like Elsa once. It was a low moment. I wasn’t thinking straight. I wasn’t myself.

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I sent a peanut butter sandwich to my daughter’s school.

Cue sirens, a controlled detonation of a nut-infected rubbish bin and a shaming note home in the school bag. Won’t someone think of the children?* Plus, an IOU from the canteen because my contraband lunch had to be replaced by a Vegmite sandwich made by the Mums Who Bother To Volunteer.

Oh, the shame.

This doesn’t happen in Elsa land.

Things are different there.

Beautiful men with arms to make you weep whip up freshly-baked cakes for their daughters.